


The Cornflower We Saw That Day

by halfway_there_halfway_dead



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Humans, Anohana AU, Gen, Magic, Prussia is a ghost or something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfway_there_halfway_dead/pseuds/halfway_there_halfway_dead
Summary: Four years ago a tragic accident ended Gilbert Beilschmidt's life.Four years later Arthur started having hallucinations of him.Or was he? He was pretty sure hallucinations couldn't physically restrain a person from entering their own kitchen.For Gilbert to pass on to the afterlife, Arthur must fulfill a wish Gilbert can't remember and reunite with old friends who want nothing to do with him.





	1. Chapter One

It was a bright Thursday afternoon and Arthur Kirkland was on his bed, reading a book. He was in a simple red shirt and wearing grey sweatpants, his sandy blond hair splayed over his forehead. As the sun rose high in the sky, he thought about how students were most likely coming home from school now. Not that Arthur was at school that day in the first place. He had stayed home the first few days of that week and decided that he might as well ditch school the whole week. Not that anyone would care about his absence anyway.

“Hey, Arthur?” a voice asked. The blond glanced up from his book to find one of his fairy friends flying above him.

“Leave me alone, Flying Mint Bunny,” Arthur murmured, turning around so his back was toward the rabbit. “I’m not in the mood.”

Flying Mint Bunny hesitated for a moment, as if he really wanted to tell Arthur something before peeking behind him and saying, “Uh, all right then.” Then he left.

The Brit sighed. He hadn’t meant to be so cold to his friend. But he really wanted to be left alone today. He didn’t know why.

Arthur continued to read his book when he felt a weight at the corner of his bed. None of his fairy friends were big enough to make him notice they were on his bed. He briefly wondered what it could be before dismissing it as his cat having come over.

“Yo, England!!” a familiar scratchy voice yelled out to him. The bed started bouncing. He could now conclude it was not his cat.

That nickname. That voice. No. That was impossible. It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t.

_You’re imagining things. You’re hallucinating_, the blond Brit thought as he tried to calm himself. _You’re stressed out and hallucinating. Yeah, that must be it. He’s an embodiment of your stress. If you ignore him, he’ll probably just go away_.

A hand ripped the book out of his grasp, effectively cutting off the young man’s thoughts. The culprit cackled wildly and said, “Let’s see what little England is reading today!”

“Hey, give that back!” Arthur yelled, shooting up to face him. Well, so much for ignoring him.

Finally putting a face to the voice, the blond almost stopped breathing. It’s been four years since the last time he’d seen him, since the last anyone had seen him. And yet, he looked almost the same as he was when he was twelve years old.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, aka Prussia, was taller now, his cheekbones and jawline sharper. But his white hair was still a disheveled mess above his head, his red eyes still gleamed with mischief, his mouth still shaped in that infamous smirk. He was wearing the same thing he wore on the last day Arthur had seen him. A red hoodie over a black shirt and faded blue jeans, his iron cross necklace still dangling around his pale neck, glinting as it caught rays of sunlight.

_He’s not real_, Arthur told himself, trying to calm himself down, trying to apply reason. _He can’t be real_.

“Oh jeez, England, really?” said Gilbert, flipping through the pages of the book. “I can’t believe you still read this unawesome shit.”

Arthur grabbed the book back, before tossing it onto the bed. He let out a sigh.

_He’s not real_, he repeated to himself. _He’s not_.

He decided he should get something to eat. Maybe he was just really hungry and he would go away after he filled his stomach. It didn’t sound like a very good argument but as long as Arthur could get away from him for a few minutes, he was fine.

He got up and went out the door. Gilbert called out, “Wait, England, where are you going?”

Arthur was beginning to cook something in the kitchen when he heard footsteps nearing the kitchen.

“Oh God, please tell me you’re not cooking something,” the scratchy voice said before a tuft of white hair peeked into the kitchen. The man gave him a disgusted look. “Oh jeez, England, your food is so bad, I could pass out just by smelling it!”

Arthur bit his tongue and told himself that he should be ignoring what the man said. It was his stress, just his stress. He turned his back to him and continued to cook.

His stress didn’t seem to get the clue, though, and came towards him, peeking behind his shoulder. Arthur glanced beside him at the glass cupboard. Just as he thought, the blond saw his own reflection but there was no one behind him.

_He's not real_, he thought to himself again. _He's not real because Gilbert is dead_. 

“England, for the sake of all that’s holy and probably for the sake of everyone’s safety in a fifty mile radius, I’m going to have to ask you to stop cooking,” he said.

Arthur tried to tune him out.

Then he felt arms wrap around him and start pulling.

“Didn’t you hear the awesome me, England?” the albino asked, practically screaming into his ear. “You being in a kitchen is a national crisis! Who knows what kind of poisonous concoction you’re making now!”

It was really hard to ignore someone who was physically carrying you out of the room.

“Let go of me this instant!” yelled Arthur, struggling in the Prussian’s grasp.

“This is for the good of the world!” Gilbert told him, straining to keep the Brit away from the stove. “The last time you cooked for me, I passed out!”

“Let me go right now or I swear to God--”

The two continued their skirmish until the albino lost his balance, causing them both to fall to the floor with a loud thud. Arthur gasped as the air was momentarily knocked out of his lungs. He closed his eyes and let out a groan.

He heard the scrambling of feet and when the Englishman opened his green eyes, crimson orbs were looking down at him in concern. Gilbert was kneeling beside him, asking, “You all right there, England?”

He was still here. The blond let out another groan before covering his eyes with his arm. He didn’t understand this. He didn’t understand this at all. “You’re just my stress,” he muttered to himself, trying to convince himself that he was definitely not here and failing.

He looked at Arthur quizzically. “Stress?” he asked. Then he broke out into a grin. “What, my awesomeness too much for you?”

Arthur, again, ignored him and muttered, “But why did you appear now?” He looked at the person in question at the corner of his eye.

The white haired young man had stood up and was turning off the stove. “And why do you look older?”

Gilbert shrugged. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

The blond sat up, rubbing his back with this right hand. “The fairies must have done something big.”

“Fairies?” he scoffed. “You’re still going on with that? _Gott_, first you still cook like shit and now you’re telling me that you still have your imaginary fairy friends? You haven’t changed at all, have you, England?”

Arthur was standing up now and even though he could tell the other was teasing, it didn’t stop him from glaring at the crimson eyed man. “Well, do you have an explanation for it?”

The two seated themselves at the kitchen table, Arthur still rubbing the back of his head as Gilbert said, “Not really.” His mouth curved downward as his eyes wandered off in thought.

“Do you feel like there’s something keeping you here?” the Brit asked, worriedly. His fairy friends had told him of that sort of thing. How some people were tethered to the world and couldn’t move on. Was that what was happening with Gilbert? If it was, was there some sort of task he needed to do before he could go?

“Wait!” Gilbert suddenly cried out, a finger in the air, a proud smile on his pale face. “There’s a wish! I have a wish!”

“A wish?” Arthur asked. So there was unfinished business he needed to attend to before he could move on. “What wish?”

Gilbert paused, his proud smile replaced with a pensive frown, his finger tapping his chin in thought before he proclaimed, “No idea!”

The green eyed man felt a stab of irritation. “Then how am I supposed to grant your wish if you don’t know what it is?”

He gave Arthur an almost condescending look and said, “It can’t be granted by just you, England.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone has to grant my wish,” said the albino, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then he jumped up and asked, “Oh! How’s West doing nowadays? Is he as awesome as I always said he’d be? I bet he is! I was his awesome big brother after all! Some of the awesome would have rubbed off on him or--”

“Wait!” Arthur interjected, holding up a hand, causing the Prussian to pause in his rambling. “‘Everyone’?” he asked, confused. The albino nodded and gave him a look. He opened his mouth to say something, when something clicked in Arthur’s mind. “Hold on, you mean--”

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation. Arthur got up and sighed, “I’m going to go get that. You,” he said, pointing at Gilbert who gave him a wide smirk, “You… stay here, I guess.”

The blonde walked to the front door and opened it.

“France?"

Standing on his porch was none other than Francis Bonnefoy, holding a folder full of papers.

"I mean, Francis,” he said, correcting himself. “What the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t seen the Frenchman, much less talked to him, in more than four years. And now here he was, standing in front of his house.

“Hello to you, too,” was the curt reply. “The teachers told me to give you your homework since you weren’t at school today,” Francis answered, a tone of irritation in his voice as he threw the folder at Arthur. He crossed his arms, and looked Arthur up and down, muttering, “You don’t even look sick.”

Arthur heard quick footsteps coming his way. Arthur turned to see Gilbert running at them, yelling, “Francy-pants!!” and launching himself onto the Frenchman, embracing him, making Francis give a look of mild surprise. 

“Oi, calm down!” Arthur told the Prussian, who only clung to Francis tighter, grinning wide. 

“Calm down?” Francis asked, giving Arthur a confused look. “I am calm. I just can’t help but feel annoyed, though, seeing as you ditched school. Again.”

Arthur watched Gilbert detach himself, grin falling from his face, asking, “France, can’t you see me?”

The only response he got was the Frenchman rubbing his shoulder, murmuring, “That was weird. I thought I felt something.”

The absolute devastation that resided on Gilbert’s face upon his revelation left Arthur in shock. Never in his life had he seen that look on the white haired boy’s face. 

“Prussia--” Arthur began to say, before he stopped himself. Francis couldn’t see him. To Francis, he’s been gone for years. For Arthur to say something now would only arouse suspicion. 

“Arthur, what are you talking about?” Francis huffed. 

He shook his head. “Nothing.” The blond turned his attention at the folder in his hands. “You should have just thrown it in the garbage. It’s not like I’d actually do this.”

“You know, a thank you would have sufficed,” Francis muttered, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not like I asked for you to give me work,” Arthur shot back, irritated by Francis’s attitude. 

“Well maybe if you stopped ditching school I wouldn’t have to do this,” growled Francis.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

Gilbert looked at the two blonds nervously. Back then, it was a common sight to see them argue with each other. But it had been light, teasing, with both parties knowing which lines not to cross. Now he doubted they respected the other’s boundaries and were simply arguing to hurt each other. What had happened to them?

“Uh, guys?” the Prussian said, tentatively, trying to step in between them. “Maybe you should take some time to cool off--”

“You’re right,” the Frenchman said, unintentionally interrupting Gilbert, “it would have been better off laying in the trash since you have no idea how to do anything besides skipping school and locking yourself in your house to be a complete waste of space, _ sourcils _,” Francis spat at him. Gilbert nearly flinched at the venom coating his friend’s words.

“France, don’t you think that’s a bit harsh--?” Gilbert began to say.

“I’d rather be a waste of space than be like you anyday, you perverted cheese-eater!” Arthur yelled, ignoring Gilbert and stepping closer to Francis until they were eye to eye, fists shaking at his side.

“You’d be lucky if you were anything near to being me,” scoffed Francis.

“And what exactly is that?” Arthur shouted at him. "A slut?"

As soon as those words left his lips, he knew he had taken it too far. 

Francis froze, his eyes widening, his mouth slightly agape. Arthur opened his mouth. To say what, he didn’t know. But Francis was already backing off, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, turning to leave the porch with a soft, “Enjoy your splendid isolation, then.”

Arthur watched him leave, before giving a sigh and closing the door. It had been years since they had last talked and the first time they do, this is what happens? He ran a hand through his hair before turning around to find a pissed Prussian in front of him.

“What in the fucking hell was that, you _ dummkopf _?!” Gilbert fumed. Arthur gave him a tired look before heading to his room with the white haired boy at his tail. “What the hell happened to you guys? You were out of line, England! I can’t believe you!”

Arthur opened the door to his bedroom and flopped on the bed, throwing his book on the floor and groaning, “Can you please just stop talking?”

“Why didn’t you tell him about me?” Gilbert demanded, plopping himself down next to Arthur. “We could have told France that I’m still here because I need help to move on!”

“Right, because he would totally believe that you, who has been gone for 4 years, came back so we could fulfill your wish,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t call him ‘France’, anymore. In fact, nobody calls anybody those nicknames anymore.”

Gilbert only snorted. “France is France. And what do you mean everyone’s stopped using those nicknames?”

Arthur sighed. “It is childish to go around answering to a nation’s name. And besides, we haven’t exactly hung out since, well, you know…” The Brit trailed off, unable to look at the other in the eye. 

“Since I died,” finished Gilbert. “You can say it, you know. It’s not taboo or anything. And besides, I’m right here.” The albino gave him a look. “And what are you saying about it being childish? Unlike you, I wear my nickname, the great and awesome Prussia, with pride!” He stood up when he said this, posing with his hands on his hips and his chest thrust out.

“Oh, I’ve got a lot of pride for England, trust me,” Arthur told him, smirking. “I just find it weird to be called my country’s name, is all.”

Gilbert turned around and stuck his tongue out at him, before sitting back on the bed. After a beat of silence, the Prussian asked, “Why did you guys stop hanging out?”

The blond froze at the question. What could he say? That every time they hung out they would always see that empty spot where he was supposed to be? That when Arthur even saw any of his old friends, it only brought up memories of Gilbert, happy, mischievous, and not dead? That he blamed himself for Gilbert’s death, and every time he even thought about anything that could be associated with Gilbert, it filled him with an overwhelming amount of guilt that he couldn’t stand it?

In the end he merely said, “We just fell apart, I guess.”

Gilbert looked at him and Arthur saw a flash of pain pass through his eyes. He looked as though he wanted to say something. But then he looked away and let out a small, “Oh.”

Arthur shifted so he was sitting side to side with the Prussian. He mumbled, “Your wish, Prussia. It’s going to be difficult. The others. They’re…” He paused uneasily, unsure of what to say. “Everyone’s changed so much since you left and…”

When he looked over to the albino, Gilbert was hunched over. His hands lay on his lap but they were clenched into fists, trembling slightly. His eyes stared at them in anger, in sadness, the frown on his pale face deepening. Arthur looked away again, guilt flooding into him.

“All right,” the blond decided, standing up, causing Gilbert to look up at him curiously. “C’mon, we have a wish to grant. Who do you want to go to first?”

Gilbert stared at him for a few moments before a smile graced his lips. He jumped up and answered, “West, West! Then maybe we can bother that damn pianist and the pan wielding psycho! Or maybe I should see how the Bad Friends Trio is doing! Well, they’d be the Bad Friends _ Duo _ now since I’m gone. And you have to apologize to France because that was such a dick move just then. After that we can--”

“Prussia, do you want to get going or are you just gonna stand there babbling?”

He nodded, “You’re right!” He grabbed Arthur’s hand and said, “We should hurry!” before dragging the Brit out of the room.

“Wha--! Hold on a minute, you wanker!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I wrote this story 5 years ago and I found it while I was cleaning up my laptop so here it is LOL. It had multiple chapters already and I will post them on a weekly basis. I may even continue this story depending on the response. Anyway, thank you for reading! Let me know if you guys want more!


	2. Chapter Two

Before the two left to go to the Beilschmidt house, Arthur was able to talk to his fairy friends. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t their doing. He had asked them why Gilbert had come to him. They explained that since he had a little bit of magic in him, it prompted Gilbert to show himself only to him. Though they doubted Gilbert himself knew why he had appeared in front of Arthur. They also told him that the only way for him to move on was to grant his wish. 

So they ended up going out. Gilbert being Gilbert, he was easily distracted and veered off the path of his own house. They were now walking around town, Gilbert pointing out all the things that had changed and all the things that had stayed the same. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a bit, seeing him so excited. It was almost like the old days when the Prussian, seeming to have an unlimited amount of energy, would drag them into situations that usually ended up in them being in trouble one way or another. 

They stopped in front of a small diner called Hetalia, Gilbert peeking in through the windows, nose pressed against the glass as he said, “Kesesesese! It’s as awesome as I remember it to be.” He looked over to Arthur. “We used to hang out here all the time, remember?”

The Brit smiled again. “How could I forget?”

After their little adventures, which were usually instigated by the Bad Friends Trio, their group would crash into the diner, sitting at the tables at the corner farthest from the door, eating, laughing, being the obnoxious children they were. The owner, though sometimes annoyed with them, was an old friend of theirs and would tolerate their behavior. Though there were a few times they got scolded for driving away other customers.

Gilbert looked through the window again, a nostalgic smile on his lips. 

The two continued to walk around town. The sun was slowly setting, giving the sky a red orange hue. They were by the train tracks, Gilbert singing some German song at the top of his lungs. Arthur was thankful nobody else could hear him as it was more like screeching than singing to his ears.

Gilbert began climbing the picket fence separating the tracks from the sidewalk, trying to stand on the top. His arms were out, trying to find balance, and his pink tongue stuck out in concentration. 

“Check out how awesome I am, England!” the albino yelled, a satisfied grin on his face.

Arthur stood in front of where Gilbert was and said, “If you fall, I’m laughing at you.”

“Kesesesesese! I’m awesome! I ain’t gonna fall off!” he scoffed, waving a flippant hand as he began trying to walk on the fence.

“Yeah, we’ll see how well that works out for you,” the blond muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Bask in my awesomeness!” cried Gilbert, as he turned with his hands on his hips. “I’m so awesome I -- WoaAHHHHHHH!”

The Prussian slipped and tumbled toward the Englishmen, causing Gilbert to land on him. They stayed like that, Arthur flat on his stomach on the ground with Gilbert splayed above him for a few moments, brains not having yet caught up with what their bodies had done. 

Then Gilbert shot up quickly, kneeling beside the Brit, asking, “Shit, England, are you all right?” He got no response. He gingerly poked Arthur’s head. “I didn’t accidentally crush you to death, did I? That would be awkward.”

Arthur let out a soft moan.

“IT’S ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!!!!” Gilbert all but screamed. 

“Shut up, Prussia,” he groaned, trying to sit up.

“And it speaks!” Gilbert continued, putting a hand to his forehead in an overdramatic gesture.

“I swear to God I’ll kill you, you wanker,” muttered Arthur, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder.

“Kinda too late there, England,” he snickered, standing up and offering a hand. 

He was about to take it when he heard a voice behind him.

“Arthur?”

The blond whipped around to see two figures standing over him.

“What are you doing?” asked Roderich Edelstein. He was Gilbert’s cousin, Arthur remembered. He was standing next to Elizaveta Hedevary, who both had backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“Holy shit!” the scratchy voice behind him exclaimed. “Jesus, I knew Austria was going to be a complete priss, but what the hell happened to Hungary? Why is she dressed like such a… a… a  _ girl _ ?”

The two people in front of him were wearing semi formal clothing. Roderich had on a blue button up shirt, complete with a tie and black dress pants. Elizaveta wore a simple black dress with black heels, her brown hair hanging below her elbows elegantly. Before Gilbert had left, she would never have been caught dead in a dress or any sort of formal attire, choosing simple t-shirts and jeans, her hair always put away in a ponytail. Arthur could understand the Prussian’s disbelief. 

Ignoring Gilbert, Arthur immediately shot back, “What’re  _ you _ doing here?”

“We just came back from school,” answered the Hungarian, obviously taken aback by his attitude, frowning. “There was a concert.”

Ah, that’s right. Roderich was a genius with the piano and had a very important role to play in the Music Club. Elizaveta herself was not in the Music Club, she was in the swim team at school, but she had most likely come to watch Roderich play. They were dating after all.

“So,” Elizaveta said, stepping forward, as if to shield Roderich, “what are you doing here? And why are you on the ground?”

Suddenly embarrassed, the blond stood up quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, the intensity of their gazes getting the better of him. “Uh, well, Prussia was--”  _ Shit _ , he hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, I was just--” he began, trying to correct himself and hoping they hadn’t noticed his slip.

“Prussia?” the two people asked in front of him in unison. Well, so much for that.

He looked up at the two of them, nervously. “I, uh…”

Roderich’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Why are you speaking the name of a dead man?”

Arthur almost jumped back from the Austrian’s tone. Behind him Gilbert said, “‘Cause as hard as it is to believe, I’m right here, Four Eyes.”

Of course, the two didn’t hear what the Prussian had said. As far as they knew, Gilbert was six feet underground and rotting. 

“Uh,” Arthur began, trying to think up of an excuse as to why he had suddenly brought up Gilbert. “See, I--”

“You know,” the brunet suddenly said, shifting his backpack from one shoulder to another, interrupting Arthur, “we heard about you.”

“Roderich,” hissed Elizaveta, glaring at her boyfriend in an obvious attempt to get him to shut up. He paid no attention.

“We’ve noticed how you haven’t been in school lately,” Roderich continued, a sort of smug, superior smile on his face as he saw Arthur beginning to flush. “There’s been rumors that if you continue your behavior, you might have to repeat another year.” He scoffed. “I think it was better when you went through your punk phase. At least then some people respected you. Now you’re just pathetic. A pathetic man who talks to thin air.” The Austrian tilted his head up slightly, looking down at Arthur. “Honestly, is there something wrong with your head?”

Arthur stood there, each word that spilled from Roderich’s mouth stabbing through him, rendering him speechless. How were you supposed to respond to someone who just poked at every single one of your insecurities? Christ, he knew Roderich and him had never been close, not even when they still hung out with Gilbert, but… 

Arthur turned on his heels and ran.

“England!” the albino called out as the blond pushed past him. He watched Arthur running, obviously hurt by all the things Roderich had said. He turned to his cousin, anger radiating from him. “I always knew you were a prick but that was way out of line, asshole!”

Suppressing the urge to beat up his cousin, Gilbert turned and ran after Arthur.

“England!” he called out, chasing after the blond. “England, wait! England!”

Arthur stopped. They had ran about four blocks. They were in front of Hetalia cafe now. Arthur leaned against the wall of the building, panting, his head bowed, eyes covered by his sandy blond hair. Gilbert stopped beside him, panting as well, his hands on his bent knees. He straightened.

“England, I--”

“Do you get it now?” His voice was soft, a bitter smile on his face. “Do you see why I can’t do it now? Everyone’s changed.” He let out a scoff, shaking his head. “No. I reckon the one who’s changed the most… is me.”

Gilbert held out his hand, taking a step toward the Brit.

“Don’t.” 

Gilbert froze. 

“Just…” He sighed. “Every time I look at you, it reminds me of things I don’t want to remember.” He turned to leave, a frown on his lips. He looked over his shoulder and murmured, “Just leave me alone.”

Arthur began to walk away. Gilbert was rooted to the ground, shocked at the blond’s words. 

“England?” he called out softly, but he made no move to follow. The blond continued to walk. He let his hand fall. 


	3. Chapter Three

_ Eight Years Ago…  _

_ Five kids sat at the far corner of Cafe Hetalia. Arthur sat at the end of the table near the corner of the wall, a book in hand. To his right were his twin cousins, both with straw colored hair and glasses. The blue eyed one was currently shoving as many burgers into his face as possible while the purple eyed one was content on sipping a vanilla shake while hugging a stuffed polar bear. Across the table was Roderich, who was red in the face, breaths ragged, but slowly returning to normal. He was talking to Elizaveta who sat to his left. Arthur could hear snippets of their conversation, mostly Elizaveta laughing at Roderich for not being able to keep up with her when they were running over to the cafe. _

_ Suddenly, the cafe door slammed open, the bell ringing to indicate a customer coming in. Thankfully there was only a few other people in the cafe at the time so not very much people were bothered when the three idiots stomped in, grins on their faces, heading straight towards the far corner.  _

_ “I’ve got something awesome!” Gilbert all but yelled, slamming both his palms on the surface of the table they were currently at. _

_ The five at the table looked up at him with varying degrees of curiosity. _

_ “Please tell me it’s not another one of your stupid plans,” sighed Roderich, pushing up his slipping glasses, a disapproving frown on his lips. _

_ The three only laughed.  _

_ “No, we’ve come up with a cool team name!” the green eyed brunet said, his grin wide. _

_ “ _ Oui, oui _ !” Francis nodded, ecstatically.  _

_ The three backed up from the tables, shouting in unison, “We are the…”  _

_ Suddenly, the brunet jumped up front, a hand on his hip, another hand held out in a peace sign. “Bad…” _

_ Francis stepped up, winking and blowing a kiss. “…Friends…”  _

_ Gilbert burst up front, so he was in the middle, hands on his hips, with Francis and the brunet at his sides, each in their own poses. “…TRIO!”  _

_ The five at the table stayed silent, looking wide eyed at the performance in front of them. Then…  _

_ “That’s. So. AWESOME!!” Arthur’s blue eyed cousin yelled out, standing up and looking at them with admiration in his eyes. “Can I join, can I join? Please, please, please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeease?” _

_ Gilbert held out his hand, shaking his head almost regretfully. “Sorry, kid, but you’re too young to be in this group.” _

_ He pouted, sitting back down and protesting, “But I’m seven and you’re only eight!” _

_ “One year too young,  _ mon cher _ ,” Francis sighed dramatically, as if it physically pained him not to let him join. _

_ The door burst open again, this time a blond boy came in with two other sets of twins with him, both with auburn hair and strange curls in their hair. The one with the lighter hair and golden eyes clung to his arm, most likely talking about pasta while the other, with slightly darker hair and hazel eyes stared daggers at the blond, muttering about how he stole his twin. _

_ The blond came up to them, looking awfully exasperated, saying, “ _ Bruder _ , please don’t do that again, I could hear you from outside.” _

_ “But I’m awesome!” argued Gilbert, as if that alone could exempt him from everything. _

_ The blond and the auburn haired twins began taking seats while the recently dubbed “ _ Bad Friends Trio _ ” continued to stand in front of them. _

_ “Why  _ Bad Friends Trio _ ?” asked Roderich, giving the three a look. _

_ “Cuz we’re bad…” began Gilbert. _

_ “We’re friends…” continued Francis. _

_ “And we’re a trio!” finished the brunet, with the three again striking poses. Gilbert’s younger brother let out a sigh. _

_ “I can’t believe you three got a name for yourselves!” Elizaveta laughed. _

_ “Yeah, your name should be more like the ‘ _ Three Idiots _ ’ than anything,” Arthur commented, hiding a smile with his book. Francis clutched his chest, pouting at the Brit. _

_ “That hurts,  _ mon rosbif _ ,” he said, faking a sob.  _

_ “More like the ‘ _ Three Bastards _ ’,” added one of the auburn haired twins, making the green eyed brunet begin to fake sob with Francis. _

_ “You shouldn’t say that word,  _ fratello _ ,” whispered the golden eyed twin, worry in his voice. _

_ “I think it’s a very nice na--” the blond with the stuffed polar bear began, only to get interrupted. _

_ “I can say whatever the hell I want, bastard!” the darker haired twin scoffed. _

_ “Hey, thanks,” Gilbert said, clapping a hand on the purple eyed twin who was still clutching his stuffed polar bear. He looked up and said, “See, he agrees!” _

_ Most of the group, except for Francis, the boy’s twin and Gilbert, looked at him with confusion, asking, “Sorry, but when did you get here?” _

_ The boy groaned. _

_Gilbert only laughed his hissing laugh. __The albino then stood in front of the table again shouting, “Right! The _Bad Friends Trio _will now go and do awesome things!” _

_ The three began to walk towards the door, fists in the air, cheering, “ _ Bad Friends Trio _ OUT!!!” _


	4. Chapter Four

Gilbert stood in front of his house, hands in the pockets of his red hoodie, foot tapping against the sidewalk, trying to convince himself to go in. It hadn’t changed much. It was a simple house with two floors and a basement, two windows on the second floor facing the front yard and another big window at the first floor overlooking the street. 

The albino continued to tap his feet against the concrete, arguing with himself on whether or not he should go in. No, he wasn’t scared. Of course he wasn’t! This was his house too! So what if he’d been dead for four years? This was still his home. 

Finally, he gathered his courage and stepped towards the front steps. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw that the spare keys were still hidden under the garden gnomes. Once he'd unlocked the door he made sure to put back the spare key, quietly getting into the house and closing the door behind him.

The first thing he noticed was how eerily silent it was. He didn’t remember it being this quiet when he was alive. Then again most of that noise was his fault since he was not physically capable of shutting up for long periods of time. 

The red eyed young man continued through the hallways, looking at the family portraits that lined the walls. He was in most of the pictures except for the last four. Well, you can’t really show up to the annual family pictures when you're dead. Still, his brother had grown some, looking taller and buffer. He couldn’t help but look at his own body. He wasn’t scrawny, but he doubted he was as buff as his younger brother was right now.

“Jesus, West, what are you on, steroids?” Gilbert softly laughed to himself.

A noise interrupted his thoughts.

“Ve, but Luddy!” a voice whined.

Wait a minute, Gilbert knew that voice. He hurried through the halls and burst into the den where he saw his younger brother and an auburn haired young man seated on the floor next to the coffee table. Papers were scattered on the wooden surface, his younger brother’s papers more filled in than the other’s.

“West! North Italy!” he said. 

Pictures sure were different from the actual thing. His brother still had his blond hair slicked back and Gilbert could see the iron cross necklace over the button up shirt he was wearing. He was taller now and man, did he pack muscle! He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. His brother used to be bullied when he was younger. Of course, Gilbert couldn’t have any of that. No, not only did he beat up anyone who even  _ looked _ at his brother wrong, but he taught his brother how to fight. Now look at him. He looked like he could break someone just by looking at them.

“Feliciano, I told you already, we can’t have a break until we’ve finished this packet,” the blond chided. The albino let out a small laugh. 

“Still have that stick up your ass, huh, West?” teased Gilbert.

“But it’s been two hours!” protested the Italian, letting his head rest on the table, making his voice muffled as he said, “I want a pasta break!”

“Why am I not surprised that Italy is still obsessed with pasta?” the albino murmured to himself. But he was happy to know that even if he was dead, and even if people were driven apart, some things still stayed the same. His brother was still a stiff, Feliciano Vargas - known as North Italy or Italy Veneziano - was still obsessed with pasta, the sun would still rise again tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. 

Ludwig Beilschmidt, aka Germany, let out a huff and said, “Fine, but in ten minutes we’re going to go back to work.”

“Yay!” cheered the Italian, whipping out two boxes of pasta. He shoved one at Ludwig and placed two forks on the table. Feliciano said, “I made sure to put wurst on yours, I know how much you like that stuff.”

Gilbert could have sworn his brother gave the golden eyed man a small smile before looking away and muttering a soft, “Thank you.”

Feliciano scarfed down his pasta, slurping noisily as he literally inhaled his meal. Ludwig was barely a quarter of the way through his when the small Italian leaned back, hand on his stomach, empty container on the table, sighing contentedly, “Ah, that was great.”

It seemed that Ludwig was used to this behavior because he just nodded and continued to eat his meal. Gilbert had seated himself on the couch watching them, feeling somewhat content with himself. 

“I’ve missed you, West,” he whispered. “I see you’ve become as awesome as I hoped you’d be,  _ mein kleiner bruder _ .”

“Ludwig?” a woman’s voice called out. The albino’s head snapped up as a blonde woman came through the room.

“ _ Mutti _ ?” murmured Gilbert. She looked the same as she did four years ago. Same faded jeans, same affinity towards oversized cardigan, same golden hair tied behind her back. But her eyes were different. Instead of the bright blue eyes he'd known his mother to have, now they looked duller, empty, like she hadn't had good sleep in years. 

“ _ Ja, Mutti _ ?” answered his brother, looking up from his pasta.

“ _ Buonasera _ , Mrs. Beilschmidt,” greeted the Italian.

“Good evening, Feli,” she returned, nodding at him. To Ludwig she said, “Remember, Lud, we’re going to go to visit Gilbert on the weekend.”

The blond young man let out a sigh, his brow furrowing, eyes falling back to his meal. “ _ Ja, Mutti _ .”

“And don’t forget to bring him some wurst--”

“Why?” Ludwig snapped, sharply. The others in the room, including Gilbert, looked at him in shock. The blond kept his eyes glued to the pasta in his lap. “He’s dead, it’s not like he can eat it.” 

There was bitterness in his voice and the frown on his lips grew deeper. 

“Luddy,” whispered Feliciano, concerned.

His mother only let out a small laugh. “Wurst was Gilbert’s favorite.” She turned to one of the pictures in the hall, most likely looking at one of the family photos with the red eyed boy in it. “You’re brother was always a stubborn child. A bit of an airhead too. He might not even know he’s dead.” 

His mother had on a small sad smile, eyes filled with sorrow. Ludwig curled his hands into fists, his right hand gripping the fork so hard, his knuckles turned white.

“I know,” whispered Gilbert, voice shaking, clenching his trembling hands into fists in an effort to make them stop. His eyes stung and the lump in his throat grew bigger. “I… I know I’m dead,  _ Mutti _ .”

Tears began trailing down his cheeks before he realized. It hadn’t hit this badly. He knew they missed him, knew they wished he wasn’t dead. But he didn’t really  _ know _ . He didn’t really know how they felt, how badly it affected them. Now… Now, he could see it. He could see all the grief he was putting them through. He could see all the suffering they went through when they found out he was dead. And he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take that it was  _ him _ who had put them through it.

“ _ Es tut mir leid _ ! I’m sorry, West,  _ Mutti _ ,  _ Vati _ , everyone,” he sobbed quietly, elbows propped on his knees as he buried his face in his shaking hands. “I'm sorry !”

They were quiet for a long moment, with only Gilbert’s stifled cries filling the room. 

The doorbell rang, immediately breaking the tension. Gilbert lifted his head in surprise, tear tracks on his face. Feliciano was standing, cleaning up his supplies and shoving them into his backpack, saying, “I’m sorry, my  _ fratello _ ’s here to pick me up.” He looked unsure of what to do and said, “Uh, thank you for having me over, Mrs. Beilschmidt.”

She smiled and nodded, retreating out of the room. Ludwig stood up, leaving his container of pasta on the coffee table. “I’ll walk you out.”

The two stood and began walking out to the hallway and to the front door. Gilbert followed them out, wiping the tears and snot from his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. As Ludwig opened the door, there stood Lovino Vargas, scowling as usual.

“You better have not fucking done anything to my  _ fratello _ , potato-bastard!” hissed the Italian.

Gilbert smiled. “I’ve missed your colorful language, South Italy.”

“But  _ fratello _ , Luddy’s really nice to me,” Feliciano said as Ludwig let out an exasperated breath. “He helped me do math today.”

Lovino, aka South Italy or Italy Romano, grabbed his twin, physically dragging him out of the door. 

Gilbert stepped out too, making sure he was out of the way as the Italian twins made their way to the curb and into their car.

“Bye, Luddy!” Feliciano exclaimed, waving a hand out the car window. “Thanks for the help!”

Ludwig waved him goodbye. “Good night.”

The Vargas twins sped away, literally. Guess Lovino just couldn't get away fast enough. He turned to see his brother watch them drive away, finally going back in when the car drove out of sight. He heard the door lock.

“Good night, West.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super late but here it is. Thanks for the patience and I hope you liked this chapter! 
> 
> (Also I don't know any German so I'm sorry if there's anything wrong with how German was used in this.)


	5. Chapter Five

Arthur lay on his bed. It was dark, the only thing illuminating his room were the moon and streetlights coming through his window. His fairy friends had come to talk to him again, but he had shooed them away when they started asking whether or not Gilbert had moved on since he hadn’t come home with him. He’d rather not tell them of what happened.

He looked out the window from his bed, staring at a ray of moonlight - or was that the street light? - streaming through his bedroom. His mind, though, was on Gilbert. Gilbert and his wish that involved everyone. 

Their group. Their rag tag team of kids who had caused trouble everywhere they went. What had happened to them?

Well, he knew exactly what happened. They drifted. How could they not? How could they hang out, how could they stay together, when there was a piece missing? When there was that hole that they just couldn’t fill? How could they stay when every time they looked at each other, it reminded them of _ him _? Of Gilbert Beilschmidt, the “awesome” Kingdom of Prussia. They couldn’t. They hadn’t. And as much as Arthur regretted it, he couldn’t change anything now. 

But what about Gilbert himself? Why was he here? Why did he come now, of all times? He was dead. He had been for years. And Arthur coped with that. Or had been coping. But there was guilt, wasn’t there? That day. If he hadn’t… 

He shifted in his bed and spied the book that he'd haphazardly thrown earlier that day. 

_ Oh jeez, England, really? I can’t believe you still read this unawesome shit. _

Arthur shot up from his bed, legs swinging over the edge as he went to stand up. He ran out of his room, out of his house, almost forgetting to close the door behind him. The Brit ran, with only one thing on his mind.

Gilbert.

“Where could he be?” he muttered to himself as he ran through the streets, desperate to see that flash of white hair, those gleaming red eyes, that annoying smirk.

He needed to see him. He needed to apologize to him. How often had he wished that he could see Gilbert again? How often had he wished he could undo that day? How often had he wished he could apologize? And now, now Gilbert was back, with only him to ever see him. He blew his chance and now Gilbert was gone.

“Prussia!” he yelled out, frantically wishing for an answer. “Prussia, where are you?”

The Brit had ran almost half way through town when he saw the cafe, Cafe Hetalia. The lights were on, partially, in the middle of the cafe. The cafe closed at 9 and it was nearly 11 o’clock at night. Back then the owner would let them stay awhile even after the cafe was closed. Could that be…?

He ran to the cafe, bursting through the door, making the bell ring, yelling, “Pru-”

He stopped himself. There was someone in the corner of the cafe where they had usually sat, a bitten tomato at hand while he cleaned the surface of the table with a rag. The wavy haired brunet turned around and said, “Sorry, but we’re clo…” The young man trailed off, his eyes widening as he said, “_I__nglaterra _?”

“Spain?”

  
**

_ The group were near the river with a blond and brunet squatting near the edge, toy boats at hand. Further up the stream, there was a log that lay in the middle of the river. _

_ “Right,” Arthur said, his small hands holding his toy boat, “Whoever’s boat makes it to that log first wins!” _

_ “I always win!” the other boy told him, smug expression on his small face, his boat at the edge of the river. _

_ “Ready? Set? GO!” _

_ The duo pushed their boats out and they were swiftly carried away by the current. For a while, it was the other boy’s boat in the lead, Arthur’s barely catching on. Then a rock sailed through the air, hitting the other boy’s boat square in the bow. It tipped over and the water dragged the poor toy down to the bottom of the riverbed. The brunet watched in shock and whipped around to find the culprit. Arthur gave him a smirk, running to where the river was taking his boat. _

_ The brunet waded into the river, picking up his boat, crying, “ _ Mi armada_! _ Mi pobre armada_!” He looked over to where Arthur crouched, fishing his boat that bobbed near the log, calling out, “You cheater, you destroyed _ mi armada_!” _

_ “I still win, loser!” Arthur laughed, standing up with his hands to his hips. “You should never underestimate the British Empire!” _

_ “That’s not fair!” wailed the brunet, cradling his soaked ship. _

  
**

The two stared at each other for a moment longer, emerald eyes boring into dark green ones. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo stood with his mouth opened, the rag falling from his hand. Arthur stood by the door, his hand still on the door handle. The brunet seemed to get his bearings first.

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I just wanted to let you guys know that this will probably be the last chapter in a while. I want to thank everyone who's read and commented. You guys are great and I appreciate all of you! I'll try to post more chapters in the future if I can. Thanks again for reading!


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